The night was dark, and the shadows above bore their own tranquility.
Vigilant Tolan sat outdoors, atop the Fort, disquieted beneath the green and turquoise aurora that spanned over the horizon. He lay back in his seat with a bottle of Mead in his right hand, and several discarded ones laying at his feet.
He observed the grotesque carving in his left hand: the emblematic symbol of Oblivion. It has scarred over as a permanent symbol of his defeat, and his failure to protect the other Vigilants.
It frustrated him with every passing second that he looked at it. He needed to do something about it.
A dagger lay rested on his hip, and he quickly pried it from its sheath. Raising it over his left hand, he pressed the blade down and began to cut over the symbol.
Gritting his teeth as he pulled and tore, Tolan drove the blade in a crossing pattern, to try and disperse the sigil.
Blood began to run down his hand and onto the table like sap from a spigot. His hand quivered when he finished the deed, nerves tensed and trembling as a response to the metal that ran through them.
Isran and Carcette came outside onto the rooftops and saw what he had done, both looking on with revulsion.
"TOLAN!" Carcette cried out as she hurried to his side to see what he had done.
Isran's eyes were opened wide and he rushed to his former colleague's side. "What do you think you're doing?!"
Carcette gently took Tolan's carved hand into her own and examined the fresh wound. She found herself asking, "Why?"
Vigilant Tolan began to weep, and turn his face down to his side. "Don't... don't look at me like this... go away..." His breath was strong with alcohol.
"You're drunk." Isran observed the seven bottles of Mead scattered along the ground. "In my Fort. This is a disgrace. Get a hold of yourself, Tolan!"
"Back off, Isran!" Carcette snapped as she held the weeping Nord's palm. The warm, dripping blood was enticing as always, but she spared no quarter. With a quick Healing spell, the blood seeped back into his hand, and the fresh cut closed, returning to the now-skewered Oblivion symbol.
Vigilant Tolan sniffled loudly. "Why? Why did I have to survive?" He choked down a large sob as he mourned his fallen brothers and sisters in faith. "Why did Moric have to die? Why did the others have to die, but I get to be here... on top of this fort... with all of this regret?" He placed his index finger and thumb on his forehead, obscuring his eyes as he turned away from Carcette and Isran.
Carcette gently pulled Vigilant Tolan into an embrace, as far as her arm could reach around his back. She leaned her head on his shoulder sympathetically and continued to hold his left hand.
Vigilant Tolan was a man she never imagined crying; everything that had transpired has taken its toll upon him, and has finally broken his steel wall.
Having been a victim at the site of the slaughter herself, she could empathize with him greatly.
She vowed that the Volkihar Clan would pay dearly for what they've done, and for whatever they intend to do next.
It was her duty to drag them, kicking and screaming, into the light, even if that light would burn her as well.
The waiting was insufferable, but Harkon was too powerful for them to charge head-on. They had to improve their chances first.
"Every night I sit here, waiting... waiting for them to come, so that I can break their skulls!" Vigilant Tolan grit his teeth as frustration mingled with sorrow. "And then I see them... laughing, tearing us apart. Without mercy."
"Yes, well... we aren't going to let that happen." Isran assured him. "We are learning from the mistakes of the past, and becoming better. The vampires won't last very long if they do decide to show up. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, you've already fought some off."
"Those were weaker ones! No doubt sent by Harkon to test our defenses!" Vigilant Tolan shouted angrily. Even drunk he could see that fact. He angrily slammed a fist down on the table and viciously swept his current Mead bottle out of the small window to his right.
"Calm down." Isran stated.
Vigilant Tolan wrested himself upwards into a standing form, knocking Carcette over inconsiderately and causing his chair to fly a couple of feet backwards. He stormed right up to Isran and leaned his face right into his threateningly. "YOU calm down! I'm sick, and tired of having to be calm! I want to destroy! I want to tear things to pieces!" He shoved Isran backwards as his Nordic temper took hold.
Isran remained calm in the face of this violent bear of a man. "Back down, or you're not gonna like what happens next."
Vigilant Tolan scoffed loudly, accepting that as a challenge. "You asked for it." With a swift movement he delivered a cross-punch to Isran's left cheek, causing the Redguard to fall backwards.
Isran caught himself mid-fall, only to get a knee delivered to his stomach and then grabbed by the shoulders when he doubled over.
Tolan grabbed him and spun him around, hoisting Isran over both shoulders like a lamb and then dropping him down to the ground with a vicious thud.
"HROOOAAAAHHHRRR!" Vigilant Tolan roared with fury as he tried to stomp his ally into the bricks below.
Isran quickly rolled to his side and escaped the stomp, instead spinning around and cracking Tolan in the back of his knee using his elbow, causing him to stumble.
Isran delivered a vicious blow to the side of Tolan's head and buckled himself in anticipation of a retaliatory punch.
Immediately, Carcette intervened, dashing between the two and pushing both back. "Stop it! Let's not fight amongst ourselves!"
Isran grunted in annoyance and pushed her hand off his chest. "Hmph. Get him some water. I don't tolerate drunks in my Fort. And neither does Stendarr." He turned around and headed back inside.
Vigilant Tolan was steaming, but slowly beginning to calm down from all the excitement. He was seething like a bull, though Carcette managed to calm him with breathing instruction.
"I... I apologize, Keeper." Vigilant Tolan said. "I... need to go lie down." he stumbled about as he walked back inside.
Vigilant Tolan seemed to still be stuck in the past. After 20-plus years of service together, he was having difficulty coming to terms with the Hall being destroyed and the former Keeper being a Vampire. It was much understandable, but its effects on his mental health were serious.
What he did to his left hand was no way to go about fixing it. All he did was mutilate it further.
"If I can't be rid of this, I'll have to take it off." She heard Tolan mutter to himself from around the corner.
Quickly, Carcette rushed around the wall and yanked Vigilant Tolan's hand. As she feared, he held the same dagger in his other hand. She took his hand in both of her own. "Tolan, please don't do this. You need both hands!"
"It's a symbol of evil, Keeper! I am cursed!" Tolan exclaimed, still not fully lucid. "We cannot have things like that on our bodies, you know that!"
"What if they had carved it onto your head, Tolan?" the former Keeper found it becoming increasingly harder to be objective. Great sorrow welled up inside of her when she saw how crestfallen her brother-in-arms was.
Then came the terrifying response. "Then I'd ask you to behead me."
"There has to be another way!" Carcette proposed. "Maybe you can get a tattoo over it? I've heard that in Riften there's a face sculptor... she has experience at changing flesh, clearly. Perhaps she could fix it for you?"
"And I'll bet she charges an arm and a leg for her craft." Tolan slurred lightly.
"I'd rather be in debt than see you slice off your own hand." Carcette admitted. "We can look into that, after this crisis is averted, I promise."
Vigilant Tolan stared at her for a few moments and then leaned forward, and embraced her without a thought.
It was a trying time for everyone, but they would overcome it eventually.
That following morning, Cura was the first to rise. She had a good night's rest for the first time in days. She quickly adjusted her armour and fit on her boots.
She headed to the dining area and walked to the barrel in the eastern corner and took out a stack of cabbage, and some salt and butter. She walked over to the cooking pot and used her Flames spell to light the wood beneath it ablaze.
She then took a bit of flour and water, and allowed the two to mix for a while before adding in the butter and the cabbage, with a hearty pinch of salt. It took some time, but eventually the Cabbage Soup was ready to be eaten.
She was sure that she made enough for at least six people, so the others would be pleasantly surprised.
"Oh, is that Cabbage Soup I smell?" came Agmaer, who had awoken, himself.
"It is!" Cura stated enthusiastically. "And don't worry, I made it with the whole block of butter. It should be creamy."
"Good, I wouldn't like it any other way." Agmaer lowered the ladle into the pot and scooped out some of the soft-smelling, congealed fluid into his bowl.
He sat down directly in front of Cura.
"Funnily enough, I learned a good trick or two from Brother Adalvald." Cura informed him. "Leaving an interval of ten seconds between thirty stirs really helps the flavours settle in."
"I'm not sure that's how it works..." Agmaer took a sip.
"Well, what do you think? Let your tastebuds be the judge!" Cura insisted. "Take a sip, and don't let it drip." She leaned back and searched his eyes.
"Hmm." Agmaer's eyes widened. "That... that's really not bad, Cura."
Cura smiled with satisfaction. "I told you. I've made it before."
"You cast an Illusion spell on it to make it taste good. Just admit it!" Agmaer teased the Breton.
"How dare-" Cura was about to go on a tirade before realizing that it was a joke. "Oh. Yes, fine. You got me. But it wasn't an Illusion spell, it was a Restoration spell, because it's clear your tastebuds needed to live again."
Agmaer snorted, and Cura's face slipped into a silly grin before the two began to turn into giggling fools.
When Agmaer got a hold of himself he spoke. "Wow, I didn't know that you had a sense of humour. You struck me as the serious type."
"Oh, don't be silly!" Cura stated. "When your life is reduced to an abstract, Prophetic Dragon-devourer who Shouts foreign words like a maniac, a sense of humour is all but required."
Agmaer nodded. "True, that's true. Do you know what any of those words mean?"
"I do, but I couldn't carry an entire conversation in Dovahzul." Cura admitted.
Agmaer scratched the stubble on his chin. "Say one sentence in Dragon language. Pretty please?"
Cura raised a brow as she contemplated. "All right..." Then she spoke the words as they came to her. "Dreh ni nuthaak zey, mey."
"Wow! What does that mean?" Agmaer asked.
"Well, it loosely translates to "Do not bother me, fool." Cura stated as she continued to eat.
Agmaer looked unamused. "Fine, be that way."
"Sorry, it was just the only thing that came to me." Cura expressed.
Agmaer stared at her for an interval before returning to the soup. The two sat in stilted silence for a time, and Cura elected to break it. "How has your time here with the Dawnguard been? Do you feel a little more confident in your abilities?"
"Absolutely!" Agmaer exclaimed. "I feel like I'm getting the hang of Shieldplay; I've been practicing the techniques you taught us daily. I think I could repel a Giant by now. Hah!"
Cura smiled with amusement. "Try to block one of Vigilant Tolan's hammer swings and then come talk to me."
"He swings that hard?" Agmaer asked.
"Well, just look at him." Cura called attention to Tolan's broad frame. "Of course he swings that hard."
Agmaer nodded. "That's fair. Maybe one of these days I'll ask him if he wants to spar - provided I can still see him by then."
"It was quite brave of you to volunteer to read the Elder Scroll, I must say." Cura stated. "Are you nervous?"
"Yes." Agmaer sighed. "I've been wondering what it's like, living without sight, or... worse. The sensible part of me wants me to back out... but the honourable part wants me to do it."
"I wouldn't fault you if you backed out." Cura told him gently as she extended her arm forward and touched his forearm that was resting on the table. "This is no small sacrifice."
Agmaer shook his head. A word, once given, must be honoured. "I've been considering what Keeper Carcette suggested, about reading with one eye closed. Do you think I could rock an eye patch?" He covered his left eye with his free hand. "Maybe the Keeper and I can find other half-blind people and start a Pirate Crew?"
Cura laughed at the silly joke. "Come on, Agmaer! There's no guarantee that you'll even go blind - if we tread carefully, you may walk away with no changes at all!"
"Gosh, that would be great." Agmaer hoped, before a sudden thought came to his mind. "Wait! Maybe you can cast a Healing Spell on me while I read it! Whatever damage the Scroll does to my eye parts, you could remedy it!"
"I don't know if that's how it works, but I could try." Cura stated. "But if the damage is spiritual I don't know if my spells will make a difference."
"We've got to try!" Agmaer clenched a determined fist. "Please, Cura!"
Cura nodded reassuringly. "Of course! Don't worry, I'll care for you as you read it. I will grant you Stendarr's Respite."
Agmaer felt a little reassured knowing that Cura would stay true to her word; she always has, to his knowledge. "You know, Cura, that day the Hall of the Vigilant was attacked... I saw the smoke rising over the hill."
Cura was taken aback. "What?"
"I lived in Chillridge Farm, not too far away from it." Agmaer admitted. "I saw the Vampires. The blood in the snow. That was when I knew I had to help."
"You lived in that little farmstead?" Cura was pleasantly surprised. "I've walked past it many times! It's amazing that your parents could get crops growing in the middle of winter!"
"We used ancient nord techniques. The snow can do very well for insulation. You know, my father would drop off some food to the Hall of the Vigilant, too." Agmaer stated. "You've probably seen him before. He always told me that it was to thank the Vigil for their protection. We always felt safe, knowing that the Hall of the Vigilant was a few hills away. When the Hall was destroyed, that... it opened up a visceral sort of fear inside me. We no longer had anyone who could protect us should we be attacked, and we knew how deadly Vampires really were."
"I'd wager you've seen the Dragon attack in the fields too, then." Cura recalled the event in the open plains.
"I grabbed Snow and ducked in the cellar with my parents." Agmaer admitted. "I hope that after we get rid of Harkon, you'll get rid of those Dragons."
"That's the plan." Cura stated.
"You can do it. I know you can." Agmaer assured her. "If anyone was built for that, it's you. I don't know if I can ever measure up to you, but I'm going to try my best out there."
Cura smiled and took his hand in hers. "You'll do just fine, Agmaer! You really have come a long way. Just keep your eyes on the road ahead and take eac hstep with confidence. You'll make a fine Dawnguard warrior. You already have. But you can hone your skills further. We all can. Together."
Agmaer looked down at her hand and smiled in response. "Thanks, Cura."
Serana came downstairs north of the dining hall and immediately walked over to the dining pair. She seemed a little perturbed. "Cura, did you hear about what happened last night?"
Cura looked a little concerned, but she shook her head in response. What happened now? Did a Dragon eat Dexion? Did someone try to kill themselves? Did Carcette suck Beleval or one of the recruits' blood? Did somebody trip on a stray weapon in the Great Armoury and break their nose?
"Vigilant Tolan and Isran had a pretty big fight on the roof." Serana explained. "Nice to see that things haven't been dull around here."
"A fight? Oh no. Was it bad?" Cura became concerned.
Serana pulled up a seat beside Cura. "I don't know. Apparently Tolan was drunk."
Cura was stricken with shock. Vigilant Tolan wasn't a Drunk. Something was very wrong. "Excuse me." Cura swiftly stood up from the table and walked out of the dining hall and past the door to the Great Armoury. She continued past the barracks, walking around the recruits who were now making their rounds.
Vigilant Tolan slept in the upper barracks, reserved for the Vigilants of Stendarr, in the same area as Carcette and Brother Adalvald, as well as Erandur, their Priest of Mara.
Brother Adalvald was just leaving his room when Cura raced past him. "Whoa! What's the hurry?"
Cura looked in the barracks and found Tolan sitting upright on his cot. He was pressing a wet towel on his forehead and groaning to himself. When he saw Cura looking at him from the doorway, he greeted her. "Oh, hey, kiddo. You didn't leave yet?"
"Before bed last night, Gunmar agreed to enhance my armour for me in the meantime." Cura admitted. "I'll retrieve it and then leave. I'm also going to be getting some more potions from Florentius, and Inigo is waiting for the new Exploding Crossbow bolt. We have a bit of time before we embark on the next mission."
Vigilant Tolan understood, and shiftily looked at the damp cloth in his hand. "I'm... guessing you're here to say good morning to Carcette then, right?" He pointed to the other side of a folding screen in the northwestern side of the room. "She's over there, near the fireplace, behind the screen if you wanna."
"No, I think I'll let her rest. Her sleeping schedule can't be that normal." Cura wondered. "You don't feel nervous at all, being in the same room, sleeping, knowing that there's a Vampire right there?"
Vigilant Tolan laughed. "I've known her for over twenty years, Cura. She's the Keeper. If she's thirsty, she'll find some other way to consume blood. Woman's got a will of stone."
"I hope so." Cura mused before returning to the matter at hand. "Anyways, I heard that you and Isran had a fight last night."
"Aye, we did." Vigilant Tolan admitted. "I... lost my temper. I shouldn't have flown off the handle like that, but, it is what it is."
Cura was shocked. Normally, Vigilant Tolan was good at keeping his composure, all things considered. "Is he all right?"
"Aye." Vigilant Tolan said with reticence.
"Are you all right?" Cura asked, knowing that Isran was a tough man, himself. She searched him for any visible signs of injury, though with his robes on it was impossible to tell verily.
"I'm fine." Vigilant Tolan kept it brief. "Don't worry yourself about me. Just, keep your attention on the task at hand, will you?"
Cura furrowed her brows and placed two hands on her hips as she looked at him with a hint of distrust. "I can smell the Mead on you. Please tell me it isn't so."
Vigilant Tolan looked away from her shamefully, and Cura slowly sat down beside her paternal figure. She placed a gentle hand on his right arm. "Why?"
"'Why?'" Vigilant Tolan was confused by her reaction. "What do you mean, 'why?' You know everything that's been going on!"
"I know, but... it's not like you." Cura worried. "You would drink alcohol, but never in excess." She noted the damp cloth that he was using in attempt to relieve his hangover. She spoke softly, as well, so as not to agitate the headache any further.
Vigilant Tolan touched Cura's hand with his own. "It's been a rough time. Every night when I sleep, I see Vigilants being torn to bloody pieces. I see Carcette, with that vampire's claws in her eye, goring it out. I see Moric being bitten by a Death Hound and hacked by Vampires. I see flames. I see the roof collapsing. The Shrine destroyed and buried-!" He began to tremble when the visions filled his head. "I see and feel those fanged bastards digging that dagger into my left hand and carving this damned thing!" He wrenched off his gauntlet to reveal the scarred-over symbol of Oblivion on his hand, which made Cura cringe.
Cura understood where Tolan was coming from, as she suffered from recurring visions of Helgen and Markarth, on her own. Lately her mind has been more focused on the tasks ahead; she had taken Serana's advice to heart, and was moving forward. But before that, she was nearly tormented on the daily by the sights of that burning execution site, Vigilant Tyrannus' brutal death by her hand, and by Lydia's impalement. Now, however, the sadness that got her as she revisited these memories was slowly beginning to fade. She hoped the same for Tolan.
Carcette got up off her cot and walked out, waving to Cura and Tolan as she headed down the stairs.
"Poor Carcette. She wouldn't have to suffer like this if not for those ghouls!" Tolan grit his teeth with frustration and shifted in his seat. Anger was beginning to well up within, once more.
Vigilant Tolan abruptly stood up. "I will not rest until those devils lay in ashes, spread across the floor, and Harkon dies choking on his own blood, and see our Brothers and Sisters avenged!" He hoisted his warhammer onto his back. "That is my promise to Tamriel!"Before he left the room, he had one final thing to say: "So, Cura, get your job done, quickly. Don't lollygag."
It was sad to see him in such a state, but Cura knew that he was probably experienced with handling grief. It would take time, but he would come out stronger. She stood up from the cot and headed downstairs to the Chapel of Stendarr, where Brother Adalvald was giving a sermon. He seemed happy to see her, and she smiled while taking a seat over by the eastern wall.
Isran was seated on the west side, and Celann was seated behind her. Vigilant Tolan was seated in the back row on the west side, beside Lucien, who had arrived now, it would seem.
Carcette was standing against the western wall, close to the lectern as Brother Adalvald prepared. "At request of a friend, I've decided that today we can cover the story of the Martydom of Saint Pelin." He looked over to Carcette as he said this, and the proud Breton beamed proudly.
Carcette then interjected, providing a disclaimer. "Now I know you have probably heard this story already, but in this time of trouble I think it is good to revisit the tales of our ancestors so we may draw strength and lessons from them."
"I've never heard of him." Inigo stated as he came walking in to find Cura. "Is he related to Pelinal Whitestrake?"
Everybody save for Cura turned around and glared at Inigo menacingly, causing the unique Khajiit to back down. Cura, however, invited him to take a seat beside her at the pew, to which the Khajiit obliged.
"Please, behave yourself." Cura asked him gently, as they were inside a chapel.
Inigo nodded. "Yes, I will. I am sorry."
Brother Adalvald turned over to the next page in his book and began to read:
"Now Saint Pelin lived back in the early part of the First Era, when the world was stranger than today. At that time Tamriel was largely untamed and our ancestors had to be strong and brave, for the woods and hills were home to things like bull-men, and centaurs, and fire serpents.
Saint Pelin wasn't a saint at first, of course: he was a humble man, a beadle at the Chapel of Stendarr at the Bangkorai Garrison, where he tended to the spiritual needs of the soldiers guarding the walls. He had other tasks as well, such as bringing the sentries water when the sun was high. One day as he carried around his bucket dipper he noticed there were more guards than usual. He stopped at the main gate and asked his friend, Sergeant Clancie, why that was. "It is because the Gray Host is coming," said Clancie, "which is a terrible army of vampires from Verkarth, and I'm more than a little worried about it."
"Oh, my!" said Pelin. "Is there anything I can do to help you and the other soldiers?"
"Pray for us, Pelin," said Clancie. "For a great trial is upon us."
Sergeant Clancie's words made Pelin anxious, so when he was done with his chores he climbed a tall tower and looked south. And there he saw the Gray Host coming out of the desert, a whole army of bat-men, wolves, and even worse things!
So Pelin went back to the chapel to pray, and as he heard the sounds of battle, he prayed to Stendarr, to Akatosh, to Julianos, to Kynareth, and to all their saints for help.
But then folk began to come into the chapel, setting up cots and tables and bringing in wounded soldiers for aid and surgery. "Come and help us, Beadle," called the Doctor. "It's your strong arms we need now, not your prayers."
So Pelin came and looked at the wounded soldiers, and found them wondrous pale. "What has happened to them, Doctor?" he asked. "These soldiers are as white as the sheets on my bed."
"It is the bat-men, Beadle," the Doctor said. "When they bite our soldiers, they drain the blood from them in great draughts, leaving them pale and empty."
"Horror!" cried Pelin. "You're right, Doctor, this is time for more than prayers. For Stendarr says, 'He who fights hardest prays loudest.' I know nothing of fighting or of doctoring, but I will go to the battle and trust Stendarr to show me what to do."
So Pelin ran to the fighting at the top of the great gate, where he found his friend, Sergeant Clancie, fighting a bat-man. The vampire beat at the sergeant with its wings and tried to grip him so as to bite, but Pelin grasped the bat-man by the legs so Clancie was able to kill it with his sword.
"This is no place for you!" the sergeant cried. "The bat-men are at the gate, and soon they will burst it open and take the garrison!"
Pelin looked down and saw that what the sergeant said was true: a great press of bat-men was ramming against the gates, and the doors were bulging inward. Pelin cried, "Is there nothing we can do?"
"The stone wall here has been loosened by flying stones," said the sergeant. "I had hoped to gather enough soldiers to push it down upon the bat-men—see, reinforcements are coming!—but the Gray Host will be through the gates before they can get here."
"Then I must delay them," said Pelin. And he flung himself from the battlements and upon the horde of vampires.
The wings of the bat-men broke Pelin's fall, and he landed among them hale and alive. "Vampires!" cried Pelin. "Push not upon the gate, for what you want is here: a strong, healthy body full of fresh, warm blood. Take! Drink!"
And the Gray Host turned as one and fell upon Pelin, fastening upon his veins. Then Pelin felt himself collapsing like a wine-sack at the harvest-festival, and knew that before the sergeant could gather enough soldiers he would be drained dry. So he prayed a mighty prayer, saying, "O Stendarr, God of Justice, fill me with an ocean of blood that I might beguile these daemons away from the gate but a few minutes more!"
And then Pelin felt himself filled anew with blood, flowing from him in a very fountain, and the divine geyser of gore drew every bat-man within sight into a great feeding mound before the gate.
Meanwhile Sergeant Clancie and his friends pushed against the wall above, until all of a sudden the great stones went crashing down. The bat-men were nearly all slain, and by the time the ones who weren't had gathered their wits, they saw that the pursuing legions of Empress Hestra were almost upon them. And that was the end of the Gray Host."
"So that is how a beadle from Bangkorai Garrison became a saint. Now I ask you, children—does not our time resemble that of Saint Pelin? Is there not once again an army at our gates? Yes, indeed. And that's why our leaders ask each and every one of us to do as much as we can to help defend our homeland." Brother Adalvald continued. "Some of us may even have to give our lives. So when the time comes, tell yourself that you, too, have the strength to do what's needed. For I think, if we have to, we can all be as strong as a humble man like Pelin. Don't you?"
Cura took the lesson to heart. Saint Pelin, prey for us. She placed a hand on her chest.
Truly, they were now in the same scenario as he, and it was no exaggeration. They were battling against creatures of the night, the Bat-Men as the story addressed. She stood up from her seat. "Brother Adalvald, may I speak?"
Brother Adalvald looked to the statue of Stendarr, and then to Cura. "Certainly, Vigilant Cura. Please, step up to the forum."
Cura nudged past Inigo's knees as she squeezed through the pew. She then headed up to the podium, where she gave a bow of respect to Stendarr. She then faced all the others before her. "Saint Pelin was truly a remarkable man, and we could truly benefit from his strength, especially in these trying times. I have a testimony to give, myself, a detailed account as to why our job is so necessary."
Some of the new recruits walked in and sat at the pews, and Inigo observed his friend loyally as she spoke, and the others listened, as well.
Cura was a little anxious, now that she was about to speak, but managed to choke it down. "The heart of vampirism is Molag Bal, as we all know. I have... I have something to say about him, specifically, and about Meridia, these Daedric Princes."
Immediately, people began to murmur amongst themselves and raise brows. Carcette leaned forward and looked at Cura with concern.
Cura raised up Dawnbreaker. "I confess. This is a Daedric Artifact. This is the Dawnbreaker; a gift imparted upon me by Meridia."
"She's actually doing it!" Lucien exclaimed with shock that she was revealing this openly to other Vigilants and to Dawnguard members.
Cura continued. "She gifted it to me in gratitude, after I purged her temple on Mount Kilkreath from Necromancy. Meridia is a Daedra, yes, but she desires the same thing as us; she wants the destruction of the Undead. They are repugnant in her sight. Meridia, by all intents and purposes, may not be one of our ancestors, at least not fully, but she is our friend in manners concerning Draugr, Vampires, Zombies, Liches, and other Undead. The sword she has entrusted to me has saved my life, and the lives of my friends, on many occasions. I gladly wield it in her name." She allowed it to glisten in the light. "Saint Pelin himself allowed himself to be bitten by vampires, voluntarily, because it served a greater purpose. So why is it wrong to wield a Daedric artifact for the greater good?"
The murmuring grew a bit louder, and Isran exchanged glances with Celann. While the idea was not fond to them, they liked the function of the sword, if Cura's claims were true.
The young Breton then pointed to the former Keeper beside Adalvald, who she had heard strange musings about by those in disbelief over the last few months. "As well, why judge Carcette for what happened to her? She is, after all, not the first adherent to Stendarr whose blood was consumed by vampires. Unlike Saint Pelin, she was not granted a miracle on that day."
Carcette was surprised that Cura would say such a discrediting thing, especially in the Chapel, though it was the visceral truth in her case. Still, she felt she needed to speak up and walked up beside Cura at the forum. "No, I was not. Though, in hindsight, I believe that I was. Perhaps the miracle was not manifest in the form of a fountain of blood, or the protective Aura we rely so heavily on, but rather, in the fact that while many of us have perished, that Vigilant Tolan, Brother Adalvald, and myself are still standing here, in this Chapel, with a purpose. As difficult as it has been, Stendarr has not forsaken us, and I can speak on our behalf, in saying that we will not forsake him, either. We will bring the fight to the Bat-Men, and we shall be the falling rocks upon their heads." She walked back towards the lectern.
The Vigilants began to clap in applause to the Keeper, and Cura joined as well, with Dawnbreaker still in her hand. Cura slowly put the sword back on her waist, and clenched her arm as she readied to speak of Molag bal. "Onto darker things." she cleared her throat. "Meridia was not the only Daedra I've met on my journeys. I have also met Molag Bal."
Even speaking his name wrought terror upon the crowd. The remaining claps were stifled and the murmurs fell to an immediate stop.
"I met Molag Bal." Cura repeated, and her voice lightly trembled.
The Chapel was completely silent by this point, and Cura's lip quivered when the harsh reality set upon her. She was about to confess to the murder of one of their own. In front of their own. She looked to Brother Adalvald, who stared at her in shock, then at Isran, who looked both intrigued and terrified, and then at Carcette, who gave her a comforting nod, as if to encourage her to speak it.
"I was travelling to the Reach to help Vigilant Tyrannus." Cura began to recount the hell she lived. "We met in front of an Abandoned House in the city, and... and..."
Inigo stood up from his pew and walked beside Cura. The blue Khajiit took his friend's hand into his own. He knew what happened. He didn't witness it firsthand, but he knew what occurred down there.
With the touch of Inigo's hand, Cura managed to calm herself enough to see it through. "We found the Mace of Molag Bal down there, in the ruins beneath the surface. The King of Rape himself ensnared the two of us in a trap and forced us to fight - to the death. I resisted and broke Vigilant Tyrannus' mace with my shield, and attempted to locate an escape route, when..."
A flash of the Daedric mace cracking Tyrannus' skull supplanted her thoughts.
"Molag took control of my body..."
Tyrannus dying in her arms.
"And forced me..."
The bars tearing apart with her Shout.
"...to kill him."
Cura's body involuntarily smashed him repeatedly, and all she could do was witness it.
"I was helpless." Cura admitted. "We pleaded for help, but nothing could stop the fiend."
The others were horrified by this notion.
"It is a testament to the power of the Daedra." Brother Adalvald sighed sadly. "They wreak havoc on our world. They are profane creatures with no hope of redemption. They lure innocents to their deaths and corrupt the souls of all they touch. And their heretical artifacts grant powers to mortals that wreak havoc across Tamriel. They must be destroyed or guarded to prevent temptation."
Cura continued. "I have given that foul Mace to the Vigil for safekeeping. It will never see the light of day again. Still, it will not replace the Vigilant we have lost. Though, I hope we can prevent more tragedies like that from happening again."
Inigo began to speak as well. "Your premise is good, but I think you need to redefine what makes a Daedra. As my friend said, Meridia is helpful to your cause. Learn to separate the good from the bad. You have Serana here. Is she not a good Vampire?"
One of the Vigilants spoke up. "I don't like that we have these bloodsuckers lurking around. I have to sleep with a wreath of Garlic every night!"
Lucien chimed in from behind her. "Sorry to break it to you, but that doesn't work."
"What?!" the Vigilant exclaimed with terror and she quickly began to feel her neck.
Carcette shook her head. "We've looked at the world too black and white. For years, my burning hatred of Hagravens, Vampires, and Werewolves has blinded me from a truth - these creatures are still capable of reason. When Cura had gone through something in the past, I learned that Werewolves were people, too. I met some who were strangely decent. And now that I've become a Vampire, I understand what it's like. It's dependant on the individual - the same way that an artifact is used." She showed Stendarr's Hammer to the congregation. "This is Stendarr's Hammer, an Aedric artifact. Holy, to us. Were I the wicked sort, I could smash every last one of you to a burning, bloody pulp with it."
The haughty Vigilant flinched when she heard this, but the former Keeper put her ill at ease. "But I would not. Thought, the point remains."
Immediately, Lucien stood up from the pew and raised a hand. "Did you know that Dibella's Brush of Truepaint once created a dangerous painted world where a man was trapped within? Have you not heard that tale of Rythe Lythandas in Cheydinhal?" He looked around to see blank stares. "Oh... not a cultured lot, for those who profess to exist because of the Oblivion Crisis. It happened during that time, actually. Right in the middle of the Oblivion Crisis. The Hero of Kvatch saved the painter from the danger using an Aedric Artifact put him in. Just thought I'd add it in there for Carcette's point."
"Heck, Magic itself grants dangerous powers to mortals that can wreak havoc across Tamriel!" Inigo stated. "But I do not see you stringing up the Bretons. No offense, before-Keeper, Celann, and Cura."
"None taken." Celann crossed his arms, while Carcette and Cura considered his point.
"I will take my leave. I will see Sorine and see if the Exploding bolt of Thunder is ready!" Inigo gave Cura a soft pat on the shoulder and walked out.
"Ask Gunmar if my armour is ready too, all right?" Cura asked him before he left her view.
"So, what was the point of this diatribe?" Isran asked Cura.
"My point is that we have to adapt our views and strategies if we are to survive." Cura stated. "The Daedra don't play fair, and want us constantly spinning in a circle, fighting ur pasts, and battling one another. If we simply see things as 'All Vampires bad, all Aedric artifacts are safe', what do we do about Carcette, who we know is on our side? Do you suggest we kill her with the others?" She looked directly at Tolan when she said this. "She is a Volkihar Vampire now, too. To destroy the court completely, she has to die."
Vigilant Tolan's mouth flew open and he stood up. "No! I would never...! I would never attack the Keeper! Even if..."
"And Serana? She's done a lot to help us, but she's Harkon's blood daughter." Cura scolded. "You know that would be wrong! Don't even try to maneuver around it!" She glared directly at Isran while she said this. "She has been here with us for all these months, and hasn't drunk a drop of our blood! I was wounded, and hospitalized - a perfect candidate for a drink - and she stayed with me. Talked with me. Comforted me in dark moments. She's human. She may be a Vampire, but she's not the 'other'. She is more Human than many Humans I know. In Saint Pelin's time, Serana would be one of the Bat-Men who would help the people find shelter from the attackers. If there was such one back then, would they deserve death because of what the others have done? Are we not all individuals?"
Isran stood up. "Then what do you propose we do, O Great Prophet? Shut down the Dawnguard and let all these 'gentle' vampires run amok and kill civilians left, right, and center?"
"Of course not!" Cura was taken aback. "I'm merely suggesting that we look before we swing our axes. Not every Vampire wants to be one. We should take pity on those that genuinely want to do better. Stendarr says to give mercy to the innocent and repentant."
Carcette closed her eye and turned towards Isran. She stood before the Redguard. "The only known cure for Vampirism is Necromancy. Falion demonstrated it before me."
"Just because you were too stupid to take your free chance at a cure, that isn't my problem." Isran stated harshly. "My threat still stands. If you drink even a drop of Human blood, or even from that dumb Khajiit, or the Wood Elf, you're history. Do I make myself clear?"
Carcette nodded, though she had other ideas. "If I fall, I will spare you the trouble, and end myself." She then walked around him and headed down the aisle and out of the Chapel. Vigilant Tolan hurried after her.
"Keeper!" Tolan exclaimed, stopping her in her tracks and causing her to turn around. "Don't. Even... even if you do lose control. Even if you do drink sentient blood... don't kill yourself. I'm... I'm sure that even if you stumble, the Divines will forgive you. If you kill yourself, Molag Bal wins."
Carcette shook her head. "I've nearly lost myself twice already. I don't know if I can keep fighting much longer."
Vigilant Tolan was awfully surprised by this. "No... you..."
"Cura neglected to mention the Soul Cairn, for my sake." Carcette stated as she took her leave, and left Tolan standing there in the hall with confusion.
Harkon leaned back in his chair restlessly as Hestla, one of the vampiresses in his court, approached. She bowed respectfully. "My Lord, Orthjolf is dead. He was slain by great light and by a crossbow bolt. His dust was found floating in the abandoned moat beneath the castle..." She trembled as she spoke.
Harkon immediately clenched his fists, tearing open the wood on the armrests with his claws. "So they've come, at last. Have you tracked them?"
"They went into the abandoned tower..." Hestla anxiously reported. "Apparently within, there was a Chapel of Mara, and they fixed it."
Harkon immediately hurled his goblet at her and roared aggressively. "DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT NAME!" He was distressed at the name of the Divine Mother.
Hestla squealed as the goblet whizzed past her and broke on impact against the wall. Harkon immediately stood up and grabbed her by the jaw with his index finger and thumb. "What else?" he demanded.
"Th-they destroyed the Gargoyles and k-k-killed the Skeletons..." Hestla was aware that it made no sense, but continued to babble. "Th-th-then they... they went into a sort-sort of Alchemy study room, and then out onto the balc-balcony and disappeared from there."
"Valerica..." Harkon snarled. "Then they have the other Elder Scroll she has hidden from me. Perhaps she has fled with the Dragonborn and her allies - I want an entourage sent to the Ancestor Gkade. I have no doubts they'll be there, with that Moth Priest, performing the Moth Priest's little ritual." He released Hestla, and she fell to her knees, paralyzed with fear.
"Begone." Harkon walked over to his chair and sat, while Hestla scrambled to her feet and rushed out the door.
"Daughter, how could you be so foolish?" Harkon mused as he reached for the second goblet on his end table and filled it with blood. "No matter. All of your efforts will be futile. I will bring the Tyranny of the Sun to fruition, one way or another."
He sipped the blood and stared into the fireplace. Truly, as a powerful Vampire Lord, he had nothing to fear from the efforts of weak, pretentious mortals.
